


Ghost Potrait

by Liza_Taylor



Series: Promptober 2020-Sylbern/Sylvadetta Edition [29]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Gen, Ghosts, Horror, October Prompt Challenge, ghost story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:01:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27258349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liza_Taylor/pseuds/Liza_Taylor
Summary: "The painting was the first thing that caught Sylvain’s eye as he followed Ingrid into the antique shop.It hung in the back of the store, right above the checkout counter. A painted portrait in a gold gilded frame, it depicted a young woman barely out of her teenage years, in a dark dress accented with gold, standing with her hands clasped in front of her. Hair, a shade of dark lavender reached her shoulders, accented with a barrette. Her eyes drew Sylvain to them, dark gray and stormy, and despite the relaxed quiet look of the painting, her eyes conveyed something more to him, fear and mistrust, a woman that had seen a lot and feared for her future."Prompt: Haunted fairy tale
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/Bernadetta von Varley
Series: Promptober 2020-Sylbern/Sylvadetta Edition [29]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947940
Comments: 7
Kudos: 8





	Ghost Potrait

**Author's Note:**

> My first attempt at writing horror. Since it is almost Halloween, wanted to go with something a little spooky.

The painting was the first thing that caught Sylvain’s eye as he followed Ingrid into the antique shop.

It hung in the back of the store, right above the checkout counter. A painted portrait in a gold gilded frame, it depicted a young woman barely out of her teenage years, in a dark dress accented with gold, standing with her hands clasped in front of her. Hair, a shade of dark lavender reached her shoulders, accented with a barrette. Her eyes drew Sylvain to them, dark gray and stormy, and despite the relaxed quiet look of the painting, her eyes conveyed something more to him, fear and mistrust, a woman that had seen a lot and feared for her future.

While Ingrid browsed, Sylvain tried to as well, however his attention kept going to the painting. It was like it was calling him in a way, drawing him closer. While Ingrid bought a few small knickknacks, Sylvain asked about the painting. It was cheaper than Sylvain thought it should be and when he pointed it out, the shop owner chuckled.

“This painting is said to be haunted. Apparently the ghost of the girl likes to come out and wander. Not all the time though, only for specific people. I do not know the details but last owner of this piece said the woman in the picture died of regrets.” He laughed. “I have not seen her myself to verify if it is haunted or not but the owner was insistent if I sell it again, it must be for this price.”

“Leave it Sylvain,” said Ingrid. “You don’t want to mess with that kind of thing.”

Sylvain rolled his eyes. He didn’t believe in ghosts. It was probably just a story to make the painting more enticing for customers. Normally he would have turned away, that was way too much of a story to sell a painting however, the look in the girl’s eyes made him pause. What was she looking at? What did she want? Before he could really register what he was doing, he paid for the painting.

***

Sylvain decided to hang the painting in his living room, just above the fireplace. He didn’t know why he picked that spot, it just felt right, like it belonged there. She stared out at him, her expression forlorn and as he ate dinner and he had the feeling she was watching him. Of course he scoffed at the idea, it was a painting, it couldn’t do anything like that.

That night he woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, the remnants of a dream fleeing him. He couldn’t remember what exactly it was about, just colors and a sense of dread. He stumbled out of his bedroom, his throat parched. As he reached the kitchen, he startled, seeing the shadow of a figure standing there in a long dress.

A blink and the figure was gone.

Sylvain shook his head, he was probably still half asleep. He grabbed a cup and filled it with water from the sink and downed it in one gulp before heading back to his room to sleep.

The next night Sylvain had another dream that woke him. This one was a little clearer than the last and he could recall the echoes of shouts. No words but just shouts. When he slipped out of his bedroom to get a glass of water, he saw a figure standing in his living room. He could make out a few details of the dress but the features of whoever wore it was still murky.

Although he doubted it was real as when he looked again the figure was gone. However it felt like the painting was watching him as he got a drink of water and headed back to his bedroom to sleep.

“I can’t believe you put it above your fireplace,” commented Ingrid when she visited the next afternoon along with Dimitri and Felix.

“It is a beautiful piece though,” said Dimitri. “You can tell the artist spent a long time creating it.”

“A little freaky though.” Felix shifted back and forth. “It feels like the eyes are watching you.”

“And apparently the painting is haunted,” said Ingrid.

“It’s not haunted, it was a sales pitch,” scoffed Sylvain. Although he thought of the figure he had seen the past two nights. No, that wasn’t real, it was just him being so tired he was seeing something, that was all. 

“Wait, you actually gave into a sales pitch?” Felix raised an eyebrow.

“Surprised me too honestly,” said Ingrid.

Sylvain shrugged and glanced at the painting. “It’s a nice painting.”

“But you buying something because it was nice…” Felix shook his head and grabbed the remote. “Whatever, who cares about the painting, let’s just watch a movie.”

That night Sylvain’s dreams were a little more clearer than the last. He could make out vague shapes of people running around him, weapons drawn. Swords, bows, and even waves of magic. There was a figure in front of him, he could not make out the details but he knew it was a woman, someone he cared about. He reached out to her-

And awoke from his dream and dropped his arm which reached up to the ceiling. He sat up in bed, his body covered in sweat. What in the world was happening to him? “Maybe it was from that movie we watched,” he mumbled to himself as he got up and stepped out of his bedroom.

At the end of the hall stood the familiar shadowy figure. He couldn’t make out any more details but he could hear a soft feminine voice. “I’m sorry. Please…”

The rest of her words were muffled and Sylvain shook his head and the figure was gone.

He hurried into the bathroom and splashed water onto his face. It had be from the sleep deprivation from the last couple of days. That was the only explanation right? He looked at his expression in the mirror, noting immediately how haggard and worn he looked.

The next night, he chose to sleep in a hotel.

Again he awoke in the middle of the night, the dark room greeting him. The dream was more vivid. He saw a battlefield, people clad in armor and mage robes, banners of gold, red and blue. And her.

A girl with a bow in hand. Her back was to him, her hair lavender. As he reached out for her, he awoke from the dream.

At the end of his bed was the figure.

“What do you want with me?” he whispered, staring at the figure.

“Please…” The rest of the words were muffled. “Let go…”

“Let go? Let go of what? What are you asking of me?” Sylvain grabbed his pillow and flung It at the figure. However before the pillow hit, she vanished. He stared at the spot, fully expecting her to come back but nothing happened.

His sleep was fitful for the rest of the night.

The next morning he returned home and stared at the painting above his fireplace. Maybe it was haunted after all. He tore it from the wall and tossed it to the ground. The painting bounced on his hardwood floor and lay still, facedown.

His breathing was deep and heavy as he grabbed some logs and tossed it into the fireplace along with a fire starter.

“Leave me alone, leave me alone!” he growled, as he used the poker to cause the stoke the fire and cause it to grow. It was a warm summer day, the heat already making him sweat.

He lifted up the painting, realizing in the back of his mind it wouldn’t fit in the fireplace. It was too big within the frame. He examined the back, looking for what kept the painting attached to the frame and saw it was most likely glued in place. He touched the edge with his finger, trying to pry it off.

As soon as he got the end free, images bombarded him. The woman in the painting. Her smiling, her lying down next to him, her hands entwined in his. The same girl getting older, her eyes darkened with scars of the past.

A battlefield, her lying under a fallen tree, the world burning around her. Her pained eyes looking at him, begging for him to save her.

Sylvain moved his hand away from the painting, the burning fire from his vision searing him from the inside out. There she was, sitting on his couch, her eyes sorrowful.

“I did this to you, I left you,” he said numbly, staring at her. “I let you burn in that fire. I left you to die.”

She opened her mouth, her words not reaching Sylvain’s ears. Of course not, he did not deserve to hear her. He took away her future, he abandoned the person he was supposed to care about the most. No wonder she haunted him, no wonder she wanted to drive him mad with guilt.

He deserved it, he was guilty. He stumbled into his kitchen. In the back of his mind, he heard the fire alarm go off and he registered some of the sparks in the fireplace had bounced out and caught the edge of his carpet. It didn’t matter, none of that matter. He was guilty, her ghost following him, punishing him for even thinking of having a good life without her.

He grabbed the sharpest knife he could from the block. “I’m sorry Bernie. This is for you.”

***

Bernadetta’s tears fell as she watched Sylvain bleed out on the kitchen floor, the fire already spreading to this room. “You need to forgive yourself Sylvain,” she whispered as she kneeled next to his body, her fingers going through his head as she tried to push back his hair. He was still alive, albeit barely, those eyes focused on her.

He probably couldn’t hear her anymore. He couldn’t really hear her before either. No matter how many times this happened, it always ended up the same. “You need to forgive yourself, I do not blame you Sylvain. I never blamed you.” Her soul could not move on, Sylvain’s guilt of being unable to save her during the war kept her here. She tried to comfort him, but he could only hear her words when they were punishing him, her form frightening instead of comforting.

She could already feel herself starting to drift off to sleep, returning to the painting. Like every time before, the painting would be oddly untouched from the fire and most likely put away at a pawn shop until it could be sold again. It would change hands again and again and finally land with him.

He would not know why he had to buy the painting but he would see himself in the work. He would see the lines he drew and created from his memory. The woman he loved that he lost. The painter trying to remember what he thought were his crimes.

Again they would go through this cycle and again Bernadetta would beg him to forgive himself.

That was all.


End file.
